


Happy Birthday, Kenma

by Sage (the_ruined_earth_sagelord)



Series: Haikyuu!! One Shots [18]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Character, i guess would be the appropriate tag for it lmao, kuroo is a saint, past suicidal thoughts kinda resurfacing, this is kinda graphic but it's also mainly fluff, trans kenma is best kenma, who will always be there for kenma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7151366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ruined_earth_sagelord/pseuds/Sage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Happy anniversary to the first day of the rest of your life, even though that’s the cheesiest shit out there, but I don’t care, because you deserve every fucking cupcake in the whole damned world, Kenma, because you made it. You’re here, and that takes so much strength, and you fucking made it, Kenma, and I am and always will be so damn proud of you. I love you so much."</p><p>~or~</p><p>Kenma celebrates a birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Birthday, Kenma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zackstrider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zackstrider/gifts).



> Happy Birthday/Anniversary to my smol Zack!!! I love them very much omg <333

 

 

 

In the morning, sunlight drifts in through the window like golden wisps of stardust, landing gently on bedsheets and covers and a pillow too old and loved to be thrown away. The sunlight echoes through the room like singing voices, children and mothers, friends and lovers, bouncing off the walls before disappearing in a shower of dust mites. The morning is a hymn, a quiet chant that rises with the gray dawn as it gives way to day, to light.

Kenma rolls over and snores softly in Kuroo’s face.

Kuroo sighs, shaking his head. He’s been awake for over an hour now, watching the sun illuminate Kenma’s face, the way the light doesn’t bounce off his skin in harsh angles, but rather seems to be absorbed by it, taken into his body and shining from somewhere deep inside, like a pool of gold water with streams rushing all throughout Kenma’s body, his limbs, his fingers, toes, his hair.

Kenma snores quietly again and he makes a face in his sleep, and Kuroo realizes Kenma must be dreaming about him, because the sleeping face contorts into a frown of utter disappointment and disgust. Kuroo knows that face all too well, and he smiles fondly down at Kenma.

“I love you too,” he whispers, then kisses Kenma’s forehead lightly. Kuroo slips out of the bed without waking Kenma, and he pads across the room, his socks barely making a noise on the hardwood floor.

It isn't until Kuroo leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind him so it puffs a quiet breath of air as it swings shut, that Kenma wakes.

He wakes in different ways. Sometimes slowly, like a bear begrudgingly coming out of its hibernation. Sometimes gently, rubbing his face like a small animal or a little child. And sometimes he wakes so softly and so quickly, it’s as if he’d always been awake, never asleep, his eyes sliding open and already alert, as if only his body was at rest, and his mind spends the night calmly awake, waiting for the sun to rise.

He wakes that way now, one moment his eyes closed and peaceful, the next they're wide open and inspecting everything around him, every breath of sunlight falling into his room, every crack in the ceiling, every mark on the walls. Without moving his body, he can tell Kuroo is not next to him, and he flicks his eyes to his left, seeing his door shut.

_Kuroo is already up._

That isn’t good. Kenma groans, lifting a hand to drag down his face. If Kuroo is already up, Kenma can only imagine how late he must be to rise. Kuroo is the champion of sleeping in on his days off.

Kenma pushes himself up from the bed, and as he does so he looks down at himself, catching sight of his body, and he is overcome by a sudden and crippling sensation of hatred. It hits him so hard he gasps. He can feel it clawing at his insides from his belly, coiling in the center of his chest like a writhing snake. His breath halts in his throat and he chokes, his face flushing angrily, his eyes glimmers of red hate. He curls his fingers around the bedsheets and rips them so they fly into the air, floating down to the floor like falling leaves or a bloodied gown tossed from on high. He stands on the bed, his fingers hovering centimeters over the skin of his thighs, clawed and ready to tear into himself, rip away his skin like he ripped off the bedsheets, destroy his rotten body so he can finally be free of its wrongness, his chest heaving, breath quick and ragged, his eyes like flashing fire, nails biting into his skin, thirsty for blood again, it’s only when he bleeds that he’s worth anything, only when he bleeds can he be free of this disgusting _wrongness_ , it’s too wrong, too heavy around his shoulders, his stomach curling under its alien weight—

A cool hand touches Kenma’s back and he freezes. The sudden and violent self-hatred vanishes like clouds in the sun as quickly as it appeared, and he turns.

Kuroo stares up at him, his tired eyes watching Kenma calmly. There is no judgement in their gaze, no confusion or fear at seeing Kenma in that state. There is a only a deep love, deeper than the coldest pits in Kenma’s stomach, deeper than the blackest holes in his dreams. Kuroo’s hand is like a feather on Kenma’s back, not too heavy to make him nervous, touching him just enough to let Kenma know Kuroo is there, Kuroo is real, his skin is real, the bed is real, the light and the room and the warmth of Kuroo’s body is real, Kenma is real.

Kuroo’s hand presses into Kenma’s back a little more, rubbing a slow circle between his shoulder blades. “Had a little scare, did we?” His voice is as soft as the rays of sunlight slowly enveloping the room in their warmth.

Kenma nods, his throat still tight. His face feels wet, and he’s sure he was crying.

“Hey, hey,” Kuroo whispers. He slides onto the bed, guiding Kenma down to kneel in front of him. “Remember what we have to do. Breathe, right? Take one breath, just for me, real slow.”

Kenma inhales shakily, his lungs shuddering, and his head feels fuzzy. He lets out the breath.

“Good. You’re okay, I’m right here, Kenma,” Kuroo’s voice says from somewhere above him. His hand still rubs soothingly into Kenma’s back. “We need to breathe. Keep the blood moving through our veins, get the oxygen to the brain.”

Kenma draws in another shaky breath, enough to mumble, “That’s still cheesy, Tetsurou.”

He can feel Kuroo’s smile above him, and then Kuroo is pressing a light kiss into his hair. “I only say that during matches so you can remember it, Kenma. You know that. We all need breath. Breath is what keeps us alive.” He leans forward, his arms gently wrapping around Kenma, their arch like a question, Kenma’s silent nod a consent, and then Kuroo is around him, embracing Kenma in warmth and strong arms wrapped around his waist.

Kuroo shifts. “You’re alive, Kenma,” he whispers. “You’re alive. You matter so much. You are so important, and so beautiful. I know just now, right then, you were thinking you weren’t. You’ve been doing so well for so long now, Kenma. It’s okay to slip sometimes, it’s okay to fall. I will always, always be here to catch you.”

Kenma shakes slightly in Kuroo’s arms, and he leans his head against Kuroo’s chest. “I hate this, Tetsurou,” he breathes. His head is clearing, and he looks down at himself again, his body that betrayed him, his body he never wanted, his body he never loved, was only learning to love, was finding it so fucking hard to love. “I want out of this… _this_.”

Kuroo pulls back, looking down at Kenma. He looks at him with so much affection it makes Kenma stop breathing again, but in a good way, a way that secretly thrills him, makes him wish Kuroo would always look at him that way. Kuroo pushes aside Kenma’s hair, letting its soft strands run through his fingers, and he leans forward to kiss Kenma on the nose, making Kenma blush and giggle quietly, before trying to look serious again.

“No matter what you look like,” Kuroo says. “No matter what body, no matter what gender, no matter the number of lifetimes I have to wait before we find each other again and again and again, I will always love you, Kenma.” He smiles, kisses Kenma’s nose again. “I will be there for you when you get out of this, when you find whatever makes you the most comfortable. I promise.”

Kenma looks down at the binder on his chest.

“I’m not supposed to bind while I sleep,” he says softly.

“I know,” Kuroo says. “Like I said, you’re allowed to slip. Take it off for a while. Breathe. We need to breathe.”

“But I hate it,” Kenma whispers. “I hate _them_. I just want them gone.”

“Kenma,” Kuroo says, putting his hands on Kenma’s shoulders. He stares into the golden eyes, their deep pain making his own heart twist. “Breathe first. Don’t look. I’ll take it off. You just look up at me.”

Kenma chews his bottom lip. “Okay,” he says softly.

Kuroo reaches around and begins tugging at the bottom of Kenma’s binder, humming softly. His chest vibrates as he hums and Kenma presses one hand against it, feeling Kuroo shake the bed with his tuneless purring. He can’t help but smile, and he looks up at Kuroo’s face just as Kuroo begins pulling the bider off. Kenma stiffens, but he relaxes when Kuroo leans down to kiss his forehead. Kenma hums along with Kuroo, watching only Kuroo’s calm, reassuring face as the binder comes off.

Kenma lifts his arms, hears the binder fall to the floor, and he breathes, feeling his ribs open and his chest expand and air fill his lungs. He sighs.

“Guess what,” Kuroo says.

“I despise guessing,” Kenma says, turning so he can lean his back into Kuroo’s chest.

Kuroo laughs softly. He wraps his arms around Kenma again, this time from behind, and nuzzles Kenma’s hair. “Seriously, guess.”

“You made out with Bokuto-san.”

Kuroo makes a sound like a dying seagull. “As if!” he cries, his voice cracking. He clears his throat. “That dumbass is nowhere near my league.”

“And you’re near mine?” Kenma asks, grinning into Kuroo’s arm. He leans his head into Kuroo’s shoulder, closing his eyes, feeling a little better, a little more whole.

“Fine,” Kuroo grumbles. “If you’re gonna be mean, I won’t tell you.”

Kuroo makes it all of thirty seconds before he cracks. “Alright, I’ll tell you.”

Kenma’s smile widens.

“It’s your birthday today.”

Kenma frowns, and he glances up at Kuroo. “What? I think I’d know if it was—”

“Your other birthday, Kenma,” Kuroo says, his eyes softening, his smile warm. “It’s been five years today since you came out to me, way back when you were a little fifteen year old, five years since you started over and made yourself _you_.” He leans over to the nightstand next to the bed and reaches behind a framed picture of the old Nekoma team, when Kuroo and Kenma were still on it, and pulls out a cupcake with a horribly drawn cat done in frosting.

“Happy anniversary to the greatest day of my life, when I got to meet Kozume Kenma for the first time,” Kuroo says. His voice has grown serious, his face solemn, but overflowing with happiness. “And happy anniversary to the first day of the rest of your life, even though that’s the cheesiest shit out there, but I don’t care, because you deserve every fucking cupcake in the whole damned world, Kenma, because you made it. You’re here, and that takes so much strength, and you fucking made it, Kenma, and I am and always will be so damn proud of you. I love you so much.”

Kenma is kissing him before he can even finish his sentence, and they fall over in bed, the cupcake dropping to the floor, forgotten as they roll around and laugh and kiss and love together.

The morning dawns outside, the sun like a golden fire seeping into the room. Kuroo and Kenma sing in its warmth, their laughter a harmony of voices telling stories of times too old to remember, too far off in the distant past to touch their skin, but they feel them nonetheless, the stories of anger and sadness and grief and joy and strength and love and love and _love_ and so much love, and their voices echo through the room, through the sunlight, through the lives of vibrant children who suffered for so long and finally made it, kept pushing and finally made it, and they exist in their love together, vanquishing the darkness that had crept inside for so long, the crawling hatred that had poisoned for too many years, together they defy it, embrace it, accept it, let it become one with their hearts and souls that sing in the name of love, a love deeper than the earth, more ancient than the stars, more powerful than any sorrow that has existed on the earth. Together, they are strong. Together, they love.

Together, they live.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was kinda written from my own experience with self-hate/self-harm thoughts and ideation but DON'T WORRY that was a looong time ago and I am in a happier place now.
> 
> And I made it.
> 
> I know we'll all make it. I love all of you.
> 
> legendarysagehalfblood.tumblr.com come talk to me if you ever have questions/concerns/need to vent. I'm always here for you guys <3


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